


Farewell to Paradise - a Shameless FanFiction

by RedStarFiction



Category: Shameless (US), Shameless (US) RPF
Genre: F/M, Frank x Bianca, Shameless Series 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 06:12:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11914872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: I don't usually get obsessed with TV shows but Shameless (US) has me HOOKED! I watched the original when I was a teenager and it first aired in the UK but the US version has something very special and I wrote this piece today after watching the Season 5 finale. Thank you for reading my work :)





	Farewell to Paradise - a Shameless FanFiction

Frank was not a religious man generally. Sure, he rallied at God when everything was going to shit but mostly that was just because his rage needed an outlet. Now though, as he sat on the beach next to a scant pile of belongings, a dress, a ring, a bracelet, he offered one small prayer to whoever might be above and listening for such things.

“Let it have been quick for her, at the end. If you can do one miserable thing for that woman who you robbed of so much, give her that small mercy. Don’t let it have taken long enough for her to be afraid.”

His voice cracked on the word ‘afraid’ and he hung his head letting his matted, salty hair sweep across his face.   
He contemplated his own withered torso, pockmarked and slashed with scars and the familiar tingle of satisfaction of his own ability to avoid death lifted the corner of his mouth in a small smile.   
He would live for himself as he always had, but now he would live for her too.   
She hadn’t loved him, he knew that, but he had loved her. For her vitality, her fearlessness and her daring. She reminded him so much of Monica as a young woman, when the bipolar was more manic than lethargic. He remembered fucking her against the door of a cop car, moments after the cuffs were removed from their wrists and the officers had stepped back into the Alibi. He remembered the way she had laughed and then bitten his shoulder, hard enough to bruise. 

The sun bounced off of the bracelet in the sand beside him and he picked it up, running his old tattooed fingers over the surface. He thought of Bianca then, of her breasts pressing against his chest as he held her tight after sex. Of her laughter as she waved the battered old pistol he had bought her over her head in triumph of dodging a bullet. He thought of how his hip had been cut by a piece of flying grit chucked upwards by the freight train that had nearly killed them both as she rode him on the tracks that first time. God, she had been magnificent! Crazy as shit in her desperation to live, but utterly and breathtakingly magnificent. 

He kissed the little gold circlet and tried to slip it over his hand. His fingers strained and he folded his thumb inwards to the point of pain to try to get it over, but his knuckles were too large.  
“Fuck it.”

He slipped it off his fingers and scooped a small hole in the sand, dropping the bracelet into it and pushing the sand reverently back into place, burying it for as long as it took the sea to cleave it out and drag it beneath the waves. A small voice at the back of his mind told him that he could get a decent bottle of vodka, or four not so decent ones, for the price of a trip to the pawnshop with that circle of gold, but Frank pushed the thought aside. 

The ring beside it was silver, engraved with a delicate swirling pattern, on the inside was an inscription, three letters: BLS. Bianca L Sampson. Frank stared at the little ‘L’ willing it to reveal what it had stood for, cursing himself for never thinking to ask her full name, and for the first time since sitting down on the beach he felt tears prickle his eyes and sniffed heavily, blinking them away as best he could.

“Fuck it.”  
He said again, Bianca had worn the ring on her left middle finger and with a little spit and lot of twisting; it went onto Frank’s left pinky and stayed there. He stood up and went back to the hut, there were two envelopes, one for him, one for her family. He would deal with that later, right now there was only one thing to be done. They had finished the whisky the night before but there was still a quarter bottle of rum on the counter top and he poured this into a tall glass and topped it with one of the beers in the fridge. 

He drank this odd (but not entirely unpleasant) cocktail in two long draughts and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. The alcohol did it’s work swiftly and the edges of his vision blurred into its usual morning haziness. 

He took another beer from the fridge and looked out of the doorway toward the beach and the last footprints Bianca would ever make on this earth.

“You did it right, woman. You did it fuckin’ perfectly. Death in paradise? Fuckin’ A.”

He raised the bottle in a toast and took a long pull. Frank was once again on his own and although he was sad for the loss of the girl, was loneliness not his natural state? Of course it was, even as a father of six … or was it seven? … whatever, even as a father of several children, had Frank not always felt most comfortable when he was alone?

Of course he had! Self-sufficiency was the corner stone of his life. With his intelligence and gift for manipulation he did well around people but he didn’t need them, not any one of ‘em.! 

Frank thumped his chest proudly and rubbed his eyes irritably. Damn sun must be making them sore because they were wet with tears and yet he wasn’t willing to cry and so he couldn’t possibly be crying. He refused to allow it.

He filled his backpack with the remaining booze, a polaroid of Bianca on the sand, her hat cocked jauntily, laughing into the camera; and also a few of the avocados and the coffee he had bought, shit was expensive, might as well use it.

Finally, he grabbed the envelope on the table which was for him and his passport from the locker in the corner. He debated taking Bianca’s but better to leave it, let the management find it when they came to turf them out for not paying up and piece it all together, they would notify her family and Frank – well Frank would simply go home and resume where he had left off.

He picked up the envelope addressed to Bianca’s parents, squeezed it and shook it and determining that it was just an obligatory ‘good bye and thanks for the memories’ note, put it back on the table.

“Adios!”   
He called, waving one hand over his head, and closed the door on their paradise retreat for the last time.


End file.
